Blade & Tea
by Miss-Murdered
Summary: Wufei decided on a life of peace and solitude post-war and only Heero is allowed to intrude on it. Two-shot. 1x5. Second chapter added.
1. Blade

Disclaimer: I own nothin'

Pairings/Warnings: 1x5, m/m relationship, light angst, a teeny tiny hint of violence, un-beta'd but short so should've caught everything

A/N: 1x5 is a pairing I always wanted to try as it is a little tough for me to figure out the dynamic so here is my attempt. It is only a short piece but more of an experimentation on my part.

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**Blade**

The house he'd had built was in the middle of a forest, a glass and wooden structure that was as far away from civilisation as he could get. He wanted peace. I never blamed him for that as just because I didn't - it didn't mean he had to continue in the life of bloodshed and violence because I did.

I parked the Jeep away from his home, down the dirt path and hopped out of it, grabbing my backpack and slinging it over my shoulders. I still was a little injured from an explosion on my last covert op and my limp was a little pronounced. Duo mocked me for it, telling me I was not Superman anymore and punching me on the shoulder. I had never considered myself Superman, the reason for my limp was a brief moment of distraction, a child in the blast zone and my instinct to protect. It maybe seemed that I'd been suicidal, thinking of the welfare of that child rather than considering my own personal safety but a slight amount of limp was something I could deal with. I had dealt with worse before.

The dirt path to his home was muddy from a rainfall and my boots stuck a little in the earth. It didn't matter, there was something soothing about the natural environment, the trees rustling, the sound of animals and I understood sometimes why he'd chosen this life of solitude, of meditation, of quiet contemplation. It did not stop me from wanting to persuade him to come back and each time I came to his home, I felt like I brought with me the smell of explosives, the sound of gunfire, and the threat of imminent danger into his quiet world.

I respected that he had given up the life and I shouldn't visit him, bringing with me the memories of war and mistakes, the past he had chosen to forget and yet I wanted to still come to him. Still try to persuade him to return and fight alongside me.

As I walked, the house appeared out of the trees, it seeming to be a part of its surroundings, the wood natural, the glass panels large but unimposing. It was sleek and modern but also somewhat traditional. It was like him, I thought, the Gundam pilot and the warrior.

It was his home and I was always the intruder in it as I would be now, walking towards the doors, the elaborate security system keeping those he did not want out. He had reason to be cautious as we all did. And while he had sought seclusion, meditation, isolation, he perhaps could still be found. As we all had been at some point. Whether to be hounded by eager reporters or to be shouted at by the families of the dead or worse – attempts on our lives made. It made sense for him to disappear. It was safer.

And I intruded into that safety, smirking a little at his system, newer, different and I knew it was his challenge to me and I appreciated his thought. Maybe he knew I'd not been challenged much recently, as after my injury I had been resigned to cases of little intrigue, forced to accompany Relena and become a symbol of the Preventers success rather than a man. A puppet on a string. Maybe it would be better to join him in peace. Yet I couldn't as soon I would be in the field again and there would be violence, the heady thrill of battle and the touch of a gun. I still wanted that. He didn't.

I brought out the small device I used on missions, plugging it in to the machine, working out the encryption on the security panel with my programme, my eyes scanning the data and within a few moments, the door opened, and I unplugged the cable, stepping quietly inside.

The house was shrouded in darkness despite the time of day. The trees that surrounded it cast shadows making the rooms gloomy. There were no lights on yet I saw the shadows caused by candles, smelt incense, jasmine filing my nostrils. I paused, taking off my boots, putting down my pack and then walked, slowly, cautiously into the house.

It was sparsely decorated, unchanged since my previous visit, and I saw the lines of book shelves, the books lining it, the canvases of abstract scenes of space and I continued through the main room, past the low coffee table, the simple white chair and couch, the large glass window showing the greenery surrounding the house.

I knew where he'd be, I saw the flicker of candle light in the dimness, reflecting off glass and white walls and walked in the lightest way possible, not as quiet as I would like due to my injury, as I walked towards the smell of jasmine.

The room was dominated by the large glass panel and I paused at the doorway, watching him, the curve of his back, the strength in his shoulders, his hair loose, relaxed like no one had seen him apart from me since the war. I knew Duo saw him – that he would consent to see him in bars and cafes in the nearby cities, and I never knew but I thought he probably kept in touch with Trowa, Quatre by default, but I was the only one that came here. Saw him like this.

The blade glinted in candle light, the swish of his sword making the flames waver, the air created by his elegant movements making them falter and I swallowed, my bare feet walking across the padded floor. It was special to see him like this – unrestrained, the sweat dripping down his back, the tattoo of the dragon spanning his arm, his hair sweeping across his face. He knew I was there, watching, my eyes tracing each elegant move, his body poetry in motion and I stepped further inside, waiting, waiting for his attack.

I grabbed a blade from the wall in anticipation, unsheathing it, the sound of metal sliding out deafening in the near silence of this room – his sanctuary, the only noises from his elegant footfalls, the exertion of his limbs. I felt the weight of the sword, feeling it in my fingertips, and it was not as beautiful as his blade, but it was a good weapon. A weapon I could use.

He stopped, his breathing slow and laboured and I raised my sword, readying myself for his attack. It was swift, a charge, the sword poised in front of him, I blocked, the clink of metal meeting metal heard above any other sounds. Our eyes met, his eyes so damn dark in the limited light and we backed off, swung again, clashing the blades together in some imitation of dance.

His skill outstripped mine as this was not about brute force, it was about elegance, about movement and he was far superior at that than me. Always had been. His speed, his precision, his bare chest, his fierce eyes were all so much better than my strength in this style of combat and with a few powerful slashes, his sword nicked my skin, a small thin line of red appearing on my t-shirt, my bicep cut. It didn't hurt, it only startled, and I countered, using force only to find him anticipating my move. My pride had been wounded by the cut and my reaction was to lose some of my measure, my control. The forceful thrust was parried, stopped, my sword leaving my grip, falling to the floor with a rattle. His feet then swung, his body in motion as I watched the blade slip from my grasp, my body dropping to my knees.

My fingers reached to where I bled, feeling the warmth of my own blood as his blade touched my throat, caressing it, not slicing my skin. I felt the sharpness and I looked up, meeting his eye.

"You win, Chang."

He lowered his weapon, offered me a hand which I took, letting me rise to my feet. The blood flowed from my wound, trailing down my arm, dripping from my fingers and he touched where he had cut, looking at me in concern.

"I hurt you."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. And I shook my head. "No. It doesn't hurt."

He nodded, moved his bloody fingertips to my jaw and I instinctively leaned into his kiss – the fresh taste of peppermint tea on my tongue as our lips slid together. In his training room, in his secluded home, in his version of peace, Wufei kissed me as I bled and I wouldn't admit it but I needed the kiss of his blade as much as I needed that of his lips.


	2. Tea

A/N: I wrote this a long time ago and added it to my AO3 account but never here. So posting it now.

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**Part Two**

**Tea**

Tea. I knew there was ceremony about it. I knew there was a ritual and a right way of doing things but I ignored all of that even though perhaps I should've researched it. For him. But instead, I boiled water, brought out mis-matched mugs and found bags of green tea attached to string. It was the opposite of ceremony as he stood in my living, too awkward to sit down still, looking at what I had made my home.

It was not like his. In his he had found peace and tranquillity. I, instead, had created an impersonal box – white washed walls, a grey couch, a few pictures that Duo had insisted I buy. There were traces of him more than me – things he thought I should have from a plant that he said would give me "purpose" as I had to keep it alive to the paintings of space he'd bought me as a house-warming. Even the mugs, black and white spots, were his choice and I frowned as I slid the tea bags out of their paper, putting them in the mugs as the water finished boiling.

Maybe there would never be any mark I left. A fake name, a nameless reflection, the scars of battles and nothing much more. The thoughts were not comforting as I poured the boiling water, filling the mugs and letting the bag stew for a moment, the flavour infuse.

The moment I had opened my door and seen him inside my apartment had been a surprise. I knew there was someone in my apartment the moment I entered and I had drawn my weapon out of instinct, my mind fearing the worst as it always did – an attempt on my life by an angry ex-OZ officer or someone who'd lost a loved one. Yet as I turned the corner, my gun pointed, cocked and loaded, I faltered as I saw him. He turned towards me, gave me that smirk that was a challenge and I lowered the weapon, holstering it securely away.

"Chang," I'd said, as we always did and he nodded.

"Yuy."

I didn't expect his visit and it had made me feel unusually anxious. I had used the excuse of making the tea as a moment to regain equilibrium, to give myself time to think as Wufei had never broken into my home. As he had walked away from this world - one where I wore a badge, a gun holster and a uniform. Coming here meant something and I bit back the hopeful side of me that hoped he would come back. Come back to the world of violence, of our fight, re-join us and find a place by my side. I stamped those feelings down, staring into the mugs of boiling water.

The tea infused and I removed the bags throwing them in the trash and taking a breath before I walked to him, offering a chipped black and white polka dot mug.

"Duo," I answered his silent question, seeing the way his eyes narrowed at the mug.

"Ahh, yes."

That was all the explanation required. "You can sit."

He nodded, taking a space on the grey couch and I sat beside him, our bodies separated. Perhaps that was wrong - that we should greet each other with intense kisses and fiery sex as we knew each other intimately and had been "fucking around" as Duo would say, for years. As I knew how his mouth opened when he was close to climax, how his back arched, how his hair spilled from his ponytail as we wrestled for dominance. But we never started like that - no, not us, he too reserved, me too cold. We never should've found each other in the dim light, tasting each other after an adrenalin high like no other... Before he found peace.

"You can stay," I offered, blowing steam from my face and seeing his expression shift.

"Thank you."

Duo would ask him a thousand questions, ask why he had come back to civilisation but I didn't. I only put down my mug.

"Are you back?"

He followed my lead, the mug on my hard wood floor and he nodded.

"I need to atone before I can find peace."

I understood, understood that need and I moved subtlety, my actions observed until I cupped the back of his head, dragging him towards me.

"Let me help you."

There was only a small exhaled gasp as my fingers tugged his hair roughly to bring our mouths together, my mouth and tongue and teeth fierce, him capitulating to my kiss and falling backwards onto the couch.

Above him, I straddled him, our lips a little swollen from the force of our mouths and I let my hands wander, traced my fingers over his white t-shirt, feeling the jump of his muscles and the ridges of his body, wanting to worship his firm, calloused flesh with my hands, body and lips.

"The tea," he said, interrupting my momentum briefly.

I shook my head and leant down to kiss him. Like Wufei I had not found peace, not found my way to atone or move on from my wars but in moments like this I forgot all the things I had done. All the blood on my hands and so maybe peace was in the slide of his hand under my shirt, the rough nip of his teeth and his tight grip in my hair.

I had not found no atonement or reprieve from my actions but maybe with Wufei - together with him - I could.


End file.
